


Small Brooks Carve Great Rivers

by otterbeans



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1748222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otterbeans/pseuds/otterbeans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of canon-inspired moments between Armin and Jean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Small Brooks Carve Great Rivers

**Author's Note:**

> Am I literally the first person to use Armin Arlert/Jean Kirstein as a tag? It was not showing up in the tags list. Oh my God, my little paper boat of a ship is never going to make it. Let's set flame to it and have a proper viking funeral for the poor thing. It never had a chance.
> 
> The title is similar to a doujinshi I own, but the story is not. That's why the title's charm far surpasses anything actually in the story. Sorry about that.

The last thing Jean remembers is Armin's face, a look of shock, his arm reaching out and his lips moving to scream his name. For the second that he has to left to think, he's certain he's going to die.

That's how it's supposed to go, right? He's just a regular soldier. Still young. His death would be quick and unmourned. There would be no body to send home, no funeral for his family to mourn. It all comes crashing down like lightning.

His unconsciousness is black and dreamless. He has the distinct feeling that someone is protecting him. Is it a spirit of the dead, or someone among the living? Maybe both.

The sounds of hoofbeats and the loud clatter of metal against metal begin to permeate the edges of his dulled senses; around the nails of pain that have been driven into the space behind his eyes. He mumbles something unintelligible.

"Jean? Jean! Can you hear me?"

He'd recognize the shrill note of Armin's scream anywhere. It jams a whole new pair of nails into his temples.

_Armin. Why the fuck is Armin...?_

His mind is trying to fumble its way out of the fog. The wind is whipping against his face. There's a horse under him. He's moving forward at a clipping pace, judging by how uncomfortably he's bouncing against the back end of someone else's saddle.

He tries to speak again. It feels like someone has shoved a ton of cotton into his mouth.

" _Jean!_ "

His vision goes white. Everything hurts.

"Shu' _up_..."

"I know you're not entirely conscious, but please, hold on tightly! I can't balance you and gallop full tilt at the same time!"

That's right. If a horse is moving, someone has to be driving the damn thing, and he sure isn't. Jean remembers that arms are thing that he has and can accomplish motions with. He wraps them around Armin's too-small body and tries to right himself in the saddle. He feels a hand touch his, as if to assure him he was doing the right thing.

"We're trying to get back to Wall Rose, and-- Dear God, I don't understand what these Titans are doing!"

Titans? Shit, that's right. They were going after Reiner, for Eren. Something happened. He got hit by one of those tossed Titans somehow. Jean hears the heart-stopping _thump_  of massive footsteps nearby and tries to lift his head, but Armin tugs on his sleeve to gain his attention.

"Don't look up. Just hold on to me. You're safe-- I promise I will explain everything later."

It's not within his character to be blindly faithful of anyone.  But Armin speaks with such certainty that Jean can feel the steel in his spine.

He does not look.

\--

By the time they reach the wall, the night has become pitch black. Jean's more or less regained his senses, although aware that he must at least have a concussion as the world hovers at a sickening tilt.

The force that they left with is now in shameful disarray. From the smattering of torches held here and there by the Garrison's recovery team, he can't tell how many actually survived. Erwin's reckless charge had to at least have thinned them out by half, not counting the Military Police that distracted the stray Titans when they first set out. He saw his comrades snatched up one after another all around him as they rode for the Armored Titan. But how is the 104th?

Armin is sitting next to him as they wait for the winch to come back down and lift them over the wall. His legs have given out from riding so hard. The laws of gravity state that Armin, Eren and Mikasa all orbit around each other, so... Yep, Eren and Mikasa aren't too far away. He has her body cradled in his arms, the lucky bastard. It looks like Sasha is trying to get Connie to drink from his water skin while she's got some rations stuffed in her mouth. She'll eat even in the midst of danger. And Christa is easy to spot; being one of the objectives of their mission, she's surrounded by Recon Corps cloaks. She looks terrible.

They're all alive. What are the chances?  But he can't call it luck. No, they're downright _cursed_. How could one group be betrayed again and again like this? By people he trusted?

Jean laughs bitterly, pulling his hand back through his hair and smearing half-dried blood through his locks. It forces his eyes up, at a barrage of cannons on the Wall aimed at the ground before them that had yet to be fired. He immediately regrets the motion as his vision twists merrily to the side.

"Remind me why we aren't all dead right now?"

Jean projects the question out as if to ask their situation itself, but Armin is still beside him, staring out into the darkness. His eyes are flickering with thought, reflecting the light of the torches all around them.

"Eren did something."

Jean would roll his eyes if he could.

"Of course he did something. Him 'doing things' is how shit like this happens in the first place."

"No," Armin shakes his head, "I mean, he did something. We were all about to be eaten by the Titans Reiner was throwing at us, and he made them turn back through sheer willpower. They even ignored us the whole ride back to the Wall... and still are now."

"What?"

Jean looks back to Eren, but nothing has changed, nor does he notice anything that he didn't notice before. _Controlling Titans?_  Forget being able to change into one, if he could order them around...

"...It would be amazing if we could utilize such an ability in a mission proper," Armin says, echoing Jean's thoughts, "But as with any time we make Eren the cornerstone of our plan's foundation, we'll be risking everything if things go foul."

"Right," Jean replies, sinking back into his normal pessimism, "that's the thing about hope. It implies a chance of failure."

It's not as thought Jean hates Eren, although he has in the past and that sentiment is still often misconstrued between them. It's that he hates hedging all his bets on one horse. One loud, obnoxious, single-minded horse. And the bet is every last human life on Earth.

He doesn't understand how the commander can bear to take such risks. There has to be something he knows that Jean doesn't, that separates common soldiers from incredible leaders.

"Jean. The winch is down."

Armin nudges him to gain his attention. He's still too groggy to think about more than one thing at a time.

"...Right," Jean presses his hand to his forehead, and stands. He's dizzy, and his leg is tweaked somewhere, but he's stable. Armin's having trouble getting to his feet, so Jean grabs him under his shoulder and hefts him up, "come on. One step at a time."

They make a poor pair for mutual leaning; Armin is too short and too weak and Jean is too tall and too concussed. But after some zig-zagging back and forth, they make it, and their friends file in along with them. They collectively collapse into a heap of exhaustion from the relief of knowing that they no longer have to fear hungry maws hiding in the dark.

Armin immediately begins coaxing Eren into laying Mikasa down so he can properly check her for injuries. Both of them seem loathe to part, but Eren lets her go.

He gently presses his fingertips against her ribs, one at a time, to assess which ones are broken. Even the stoic Mikasa hisses when it hurts. Eren's knuckles are white and he shifts around cagily, hovering-- it's clear that anyone other than Armin would have been decked in the face by now.

Jean is taking a risk when he puts a hand on Eren's back, but he does it anyways. Eren jumps, but doesn't attack, looking over his shoulder with a gloomy stare. The striations left over from his Titan transformation are still deeply pronounced around his eyes and cheeks. He hasn't decompressed or come to terms with the fact that Mikasa has been hurt in the act of protecting him.

"Hey, calm down. She's alive, right? She's okay."

Eren's face draws tight with distaste as he fights his own misgivings.

"I'm supposed to protect her. Mom told me to protect her. But she keeps protecting _me_. I just-- I keep fucking up."

"We're all fuck ups," Jean snorts, and whiffs Eren over the head, "you just get more opportunities to screw the pooch than the rest of us. Besides, you pull the day out of your ass often enough to make up for it."

He notices Armin glancing back at him as he banters with Eren, unusually non-accusatory. He mouths the words _thank you_. But only for a split second. He quickly busies himself with Mikasa again.

"Fuck you Jean," Eren grumbles in return. As his attention is pulled away from her, he seems to relax, "you were dead meat. Titan fodder. You're lucky Armin went back for your sorry corpse."

"Yeah, I know. I woke up smacking asses with his horse."

"No, you don't get it. He put himself between you and a Titan. Unsaddled and everything. If anyone was gonna get eaten, he would've been first."

Jean shuts up. It's not easy to shut Jean up. Eren puffs up in pride, for both Armin and himself, as Jean stares in shock at the back of Armin's cape.

"...Seriously?"

Now it's Eren's turn to hit Jean, although not on the head.

"Of course, moron. You think I'd make something like that up?"

It's too farfetched to be a lie. But... Armin? Really? Jean, having known him for years in training, has a hard time separating the weak-willed, frightened child that he was for so long with the determined man he was becoming. Someone that would risk their life-- no, it went beyond risk. It was certain death Armin was facing, in hopes that his friend might somehow escape.

 _His friend_. Jean didn't know he'd really earned that qualification. Armin always struck him as a guy who had two hands, and so he had two friends, always ready to hold someone back. His slots were full.

"Jean?"

He startles. Hearing someone's voice when you're thinking about them is spooky as hell. When he wasn't paying attention, Armin had turned away from Mikasa to face him.

"Yeah?"

He offers an old scrap of cloth.

"Your face is covered in blood. You look ghastly."

It's true. Jean can feel its sticky pull whenever he blinks. He takes the rag with a murmur of thanks, wets it a little, and makes an effort to clean himself up.

"I'd bandage your head for you, but..."

"Yeah. No time to pack first aid."

Armin sits next to him. The winch isn't that far from the top of the Wall. If he wants to ask, he's gonna have to do it now.

"...Mikasa okay?"

Fucking hell.

"She'll be fine," Armin replies with a nod, unaware of what Jean really want to ask, "I think those ribs were broken before we even set out; the riding just made it worse."

"She'd jump off Wall Sina without her gear for him, huh."

Armin smiles thinly, with all the amusement of someone who actually has to deal with such bravado on a regular basis.

"She very nearly jumped off Wall Rose..."

Their elevator comes to a lurching stop, and Garrison men start to crowd around them, supplies at the ready. Armin takes one of their hands and hops the gap, looking back at Jean with his own outstretched. He takes it and jumps the gap as well.

\--

Jean has a concussion, a broken rib and a twisted knee.

Considering he was hit by a flying 8 meter class Titan, this outcome is surprisingly forgiving.

The medical bay is a mess. The Military Police that had been hit by the initial wave of Titans had already occupied the place before the Recon Corps had a chance to return. They were practically blocking entrance until the Garrison working there realized what was going on, and even then continued to make things difficult throughout the night.

It's stupid and petty, and while Jean hates them for it, he can't blame them either. They were bait, plain and simple. The Recon Corps didn't have the numbers to be sending men to their deaths like that, so they sent other men instead. Useless men gone soft in the inner walls, but men all the same. He could have been one of them.

They find him a bed in a room that he suspects was a large broom closet an hour ago. He doesn't give a shit. Anywhere where he can rest his neck and put his head down is fine by him.

He gets to lie there-- sleeping or not sleeping, he's not really aware-- for about an hour or three before his attention is drawn to a slowly turning doorknob.

Someone peeks his blonde head into the room. Jean gets up on the heels of his hands.

"Armin?"

He blinks owlishly into the pitch-black room, looking sincerely, comically surprised at what he's found.

"...Jean?" Armin rubs at his eyes, sunken and dark, "Why are you... Why is there a bed... _Dear God_ , am I ever going to sleep tonight?"

"For the love of-- get in here and sit down before you fall over and crack _your_  head open," Jean hisses, and makes a hand motion to reel him in, "'the hell are you looking in closets for places to sleep?"

"There's nowhere else to go," he sighs, more dramatic than Jean has ever seen him, and closes the door behind him. In any other situation he might have denied his offer, but now he's far too tired to care, and stumbles to sit at the foot of Jean's bed "Literally nowhere. I was questioned for a report as soon as the higher-ups caught wind that I'd seen everything up close. Since the commander is still unconscious, they had to grill me for double the information. By the time I was released, the Military Police had already crowded every bed out. I can't even find some dark corner or lie down outside without being harassed."

"Jackasses. They can't even get revenge right."

"I can't blame them for their behavior," Armin murmurs in somber respect, validating what Jean had already felt, "Even if they are a perpetual thorn in our sides."

Armin is starting to pitch forward in his seat, so Jean grabs the hood of his cloak to keep him from falling off the bed. He jolts awake and Jean shakes his head.

"Take off your gear. You're small enough to fit in half a bed, right?"

"Well, yes," he replies, not complaining about his pintsize status if it gets him a bed to sleep in, "your injuries aren't severe, are they?"

"Nah," Jean shrugs, "concussion, broken rib... No big deal. I got lucky."

"Indeed," Armin says as he sloughs off his cape, and his jacket, and undoes the buckle over his breastbone. It's the lazy way to take off your harness; impossible to get back into afterwards, but the whole thing can be stepped out of at once, "when I saw you were hit, I thought I would be retrieving a dead body."

Jean finds himself with a second chance.

"But... you went back anyways. Right into danger."

Armin lets his harness fall to the floor, and rubs at his shoulder. He looks back at Jean and nods.

"Eren told you."

"You heard that."

"Yes."

"And all of it...?"

"True," Armin finishes, his face wan as he remembers a terrifying experience "Although I think he overplayed my bravery. It's not as though I stood before you, blades akimbo. I had you in one arm and a sword in the other, like I could fend a Titan away with what is naught more than a penknife in comparison."

"But that's," Jean drags a hand through his hair, "Armin, that's _suicide_. There's no way I would have come around fast enough to..."

"I know. I know..." Armin puts his head in his hands, "But Eren and Mikasa had already been unhorsed. When I saw that shadow pass over you, and I knew you were going to be hit, I just... It was too much. I couldn't possibly try to retreat."

"But the Recon Corps needs you, you're--"

" _Damn_ the Recon Corps!"

Armin smacks his fists against his knees, and Jean recoils in surprise.

"I... I wish for humanity's revival. More than anything," he chokes, staring into nothing like he can see things that aren't there, "I want to stand on Wall Maria and see the sky's horizon touch the Earth for the first time in my life. I want to find the oceans, and the mountains, and the deserts, and everything I ever learned or dreamed of. I want children to be born into a time where they never have to fear a Titan."

Armin's fists have relaxed, but he's begun to tremble. He turns to look at Jean with fear and desperation. His voice is hoarse.

"But I'm not strong enough to live on ideals alone, Jean. I have no home to return to. There's nobody I can protect. I _ne_ _ed_ Eren and Mikasa. I _need_ the promises we've made."

"I need _you_."

Jean can only stare in shock. It feels like he knew this outcome, but it wasn't any less terrifying to watch. A man deconstructed; There's a mile between them and he can't find the way to bridge the gap.

"You understand, don't you? What it's like to give everything you have? To do terrible things for the sake of something greater? And you're not sure... You're not sure if it was right..."

Soldiers, one after another, falling at his command to charge. Jean realizes he does know what the commander has in him that allows him to march the willing to their demise. He just never wanted to think about it again. He never wanted to be in that place again, where he saw two sides of himself, and had to choose...

Armin is suddenly silenced as Jean crushes him to his chest. He doesn’t care that his ribs are killing him as Armin struggles, breathing in panicked gasps.

"I know. Armin, you have no idea-- I know."

"I told them that we were torturing Annie," he heaves against Jean, "I saw how much it killed Bertholt. I did it because I knew it would. And I'd do it again! I'm a _monster_."

Jean grits his teeth.

"You said it yourself, didn't you? If want to fight monsters..."

" _You'll have to become one_."

They say it in unison.

Armin can only struggle against Jean's hold for so long. Like a caged animal, he's eventually forced to calm down from working himself into stupid exhaustion. He couldn't stay awake if he wanted to. He slips out of his relaxing grip like a liquid, and Jean gently nudges him into place and pulls his hair away from his face before throwing the sheets over him. Armin heaves a heavy sigh as he transitions into fitful sleep, and Jean wonders just how much more they’ll have to sacrifice.

He wasn't wrong in his assumption. Eren and Mikasa were without a doubt Armin's hands. But Jean--

Jean stood at his back.


	2. Shifting Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on adding onto this story, but the latest chapter came out in Chinese and well... how could I not? This practically wrote itself.

Jean gets third watch, after Mikasa and Sasha. It's dark. There's little more than he can do but listen, hoping he can differentiate between animal and human noises on the vague experience he has. It's nerve-wracking work. It's not impossible that those guys with the central MP could have followed them here. He keeps an ear out for the familiar singing of zip lines in the air.

He lets his watch linger longer than it has to on purpose, as long as he can. He's tired, but he can take it. He did jack shit today, fucking up at the worst possible moment, becoming a burden... Jean shakes his head, half in aggravation, half to try and keep himself awake.

He'll make up for this even if it kills him. Literally. He would rather die than become the weakest link, the one that breaks the chain... He trudges along the path around the barn, beaten down by the two before him, and passes by stale vomit. It reminds him of what he must do.

There's no way to tell exactly how much time has passed, but judging by the movement of the moon, he has to have stood through more than just his patrol by now. Jean shoulders his rifle and enters the barn. The last flickering flames in their fire pit are still enough to warm the space and remind his flesh of the outside chill. He brings his hands to his mouth, breathes on them, and rubs them together to regain sensation in his fingertips.

Almost everyone is asleep, even the Captain. He was injured in the firefight in Sina, so he needs extra rest. Mikasa got first watch for the same purpose. Sasha is curled up with her head resting on Connie's stomach, and he is unbothered as always.

Armin is the odd one out. He sits in a dark corner, hood up, legs drawn close to his chest. Jean holds in his sigh of disappointment. He was hoping he had gotten some rest while he was on watch, but that doesn't seem to be the case. Looks like he'll have to start from scratch.

Jean steps around all the sleeping bodies to get to Connie, and nudges him with the toe of his boot, carefully avoiding Sasha at the same time.

"Hey, get up. Change of guard."

He has to nudge him several more times to get him to wake up. Connie blinks as his eyes focus on the broken roof above them, slowly remembering where he is. He sits up, and Sasha's head rolls into his lap. She grumbles sleepily.

"Sorry, Sash'," he mumbles in apology, yawning widely, and lifts her up to rest her down at his side instead. He stretches and stumbles a bit as he rises.

"Wake up, wake up," Jean gives him a solid slap upside his bald head a few times for good measure, "and it's the Captain's turn after you, so don't bother Armin."

"Eh?" Connie cracks his neck from side to side, and takes the rifle from Jean, "but the Captain has last watch..."

"He still does. I took Armin's turn."

Connie grins a little, and gives Jean's back a pat, although he tries to shrug the touch off.

"You've got a nasty face, but you're a good guy, Jean."

"Thanks a _lot_ ," Jean bites back, shoving him away, but the damage has already been done; Connie tip-toes out of the barn with a stupid smirk still on his face, "cue ball."

Honestly, how is he supposed to even try and approach a situation delicately with that idiot skipping around? That conversation was more than loud enough for Armin to hear. When he turns around, Armin shifts, like he's trying to make himself less conspicuous.

 _Goddammit_.

Jean takes a deep breath. He has to make good on this. He has to give it his best shot.

He takes a step towards him, and Armin twitches again. He can't get a read on it; it's not fear, but some kind of personal dread, or unhealthy anticipation. He knows that Jean is going to address him, and for some reason he doesn't want that to happen.

But he doesn't have a choice. Jean sits next to him, close enough that their shoulders graze each other. Armin is trembling a little, tense, exhausted. His face is hidden by his hood, but Jean can see his lips pursed into a nervous line.

"Hey," he says, bringing his voice to one of its lower registers, "you tried sleeping yet?"

Armin pauses, and then nods slowly.

"I lie down, and I shake. It won't stop."

Jean makes a sound, to confirm that he's heard, but... Well, how could he _understand_? That's the crux, and he has to work around it. He has to use tools he can actually comprehend.

"You've gotta eat something. You're starving yourself sick."

"I can't," Armin shakes his head pointedly, "I can't keep anything down. I don't want to throw up in here."

"You'll regret it tomorrow, when your knees start knocking," he says, reaching into his satchel for some spare rations. He presses a small hunk into Armin's hands with well-meaning insistence, "just give it another shot. You can puke in my hands if you feel like it."

Armin hesitates. He really doesn't want to throw up again; he's been traumatized enough for one day. But there's sense in Jean's words. If he collapses tomorrow, he's done for.

He takes a deep breath, sighs, and with great trepidation, bites off a chunk of the dense rations. His throat immediately closes up. Armin presses his hand to his mouth with a choked moan.

"It's okay," Jean coaches him like he's giving an order, putting a hand underneath his cape and rubbing his back slowly, "come on. Chew."

Armin takes a few more controlled breaths through his nose. Even chewing is an enormous effort. He keeps his hand held tight over his mouth, and tries to focus on the soothing feeling of his back being rubbed. Swallowing is entirely unpleasant, as the food tries to force its way back up, but Armin wills it down.

"Good. Take a drink before your mouth glues up."

Their rations are so dry that they can't be eaten without water; eventually they'll sap all the moisture out of your mouth and make it impossible to swallow. Armin nods and reaches for his water skin, tilting his head back to drink. His hood slips off.

His eyes are red and sunken, with a clear, shining trail running down his cheeks where tears have fallen. He looks awful, and he's aware of it. When he finishes drinking, he rubs at his face vigorously with his sleeves, but it does little good.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, sounding phlegmy, "I know I'm a sight..."

"You think I care?" Jean retorts, and elicits the tiniest snort of laughter from Armin, "I never have and I still don't. Now take another bite."

Armin realizes that his not caring in the past and not caring now are two completely different kinds of caring, but he doesn't say anything about it. He gathers his strength and takes another, bigger bite, attacking the hard rations with his molars. His stomach rebels again, but he's able to manage a little better this time. He closes his eyes and lets his body gently sway back and forth with the motions of Jean's hand as he chews.

One nibble at a time, he finishes the food he was given. It was only about a third of what was considered a normal portion, but it was better than nothing. Armin takes a long drink of water to get it all down, and enjoys a good sigh when he's finally done. Jean gives him some space. He leans back against the wall and stares up at the sky through their shoddy roof.

"...You took my shift on patrol?"

Jean clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He owes Connie a good punch in the gut when this is all over.

"Yeah," he replies, and says nothing more. Would Armin be grateful? Insulted? He didn't mean him any disrespect; he was just trying to be--

"Thank you," Armin says, and Jean lets out a breath, "I could use the extra time to try and gather myself."

"I do owe you one. This is the third time you've saved me, if you're still counting."

"Mmm..."

He doesn't seem like he wishes to gloat about it. Jean gets that, at least. The sacrifice he made to do so was too sacred. Even he wasn't sure if he could do the same... And he was ashamed of it.

"I wonder who she was."

"Huh?"

"Who she was," Armin repeats himself, "her name. How old she was. Her hometown. How she came to be in that unfortunate position. I wonder what it was that I ended."

"It wasn't an 'unfortunate position'," Jean retorts, "she was a soldier, wearing that gear that isn't good for anything but killing humans. She knew exactly what she was getting into."

"True. But she still hesitated when she saw your face. In the end, she was a better person than I was... Who, then, has a greater right to live? Are we no better than Titans, eating each other, only the strongest surviving?"

He's struggling. Jean can tell, as Armin's breath quickens, and he gets that _look_ on his face. He's going to that unreachable place, and it has to stop before he's completely gone.

"It's not... It's not like that," Jean shakes his head, and pushes the fringe of his hair back as he tries to think. Words don't come as fast to him as they come to Armin, "I did join up with the Corps thinking that saving the world would be as easy as fighting monsters. But if that's really all there was to it, don't you think the Titans would have all died a long time ago? Ideals might seem strong at first, because they can convince you to do anything. But they're really weak. They don't mean anything. Without sacrifice, they're just words. Just... air."

"She sacrificed for what she believed in, and you had to sacrifice for what you believe in. We're not just mindlessly killing each other. You did what you felt you had to do. Besides..."

Armin's breath hitches, and he struggles to keep his crying silent. Jean puts an arm around his shoulders.

"...I don't think someone with poor morals would grieve over the death of a person who was trying to kill them."

He makes a terrible, gut-wrenching noise, as if his body was trying to expel a poison within him. Jean gives him a too-tight, jostling hug, hand running up Armin's shoulder and neck to his head, and he presses theirs together.

"Thank you, Armin. Thank you for saving my life," Jean says, as Armin's tears smear on his own cheeks, "and I'll always be around, so if you ever come to regret it, I'll be here to tell you again. I'll never think you did anything but what was right."

 _I hope that, someday, I'll be the one that protects you_.

It's unsettling to be with Armin when he's completely lost his words, the foundation that he usually stood upon, all but crumbled away. He turns slightly to bury his face in Jean's collar. Jean holds a cool hand on the back of his hot neck and presses his dry lips to the top of his blonde head.

What he meant earlier when he said 'shaking' soon becomes apparent; as his strength is sapped from crying, his whole body trembles against Jean's. Jean takes a deep breath, and slowly lowers the both of them to the ground, so they're lying down tightly tangled together, capes making an impenetrable cocoon.

So close to Jean, Armin can feel his chest move as he breathes, the warmth of each exhale heating the space between them, and the faintest thumping sound of his heart beating. This is the worth of what he has done. The weight of the life he has ended will never leave his conscious, but the weight of this death would be far, far worse.

"No one person is good for everybody..."

"Hmn?"

"It's nothing," Armin shakes his head, and shimmies a little closer, "it's just something I told someone once. It feels like a long time ago, now."

Jean doesn't know what happened, or when he said that, so he only shrugs.

"Don't think anymore. Go to sleep. There're only a couple of hours left before sunrise."

"...Okay. I'll try."

Telling Armin to not think is like telling a force of nature to just _stop_ , but his sentiment meant well enough. He tries to clear his mind, and whenever he begins to shake again, Jean runs a hand up and down his arm. It soothes him, along with all the ambient sensations of life echoing around him, and his anxiety begins to fade into a bone-deep weariness. He rests his head on Jean's outstretched arm, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

\--

One thing that Jean has gotten used to since joining up with the Military: morning always comes too fast. He could always use an extra hour or two of sleep, but they get up with the sun, and the sun is a terrible, punctual bastard.

When he wakes, Armin is still pressed against him. He carefully pulls the both of them apart, and doesn't bother to wake him, letting him get whatever few extra moments of peace he can have before the natural hustle and bustle of breaking camp wakes him up too.

He's outside covering their tracks and more or less trying to make the barn look like it had been untouched when he gets surprised by an unusual encounter.

"Jean."

Now that's a voice he doesn't hear that often. He turns around.

"Mikasa. You need something?"

It's usually impossible to tell what Mikasa is thinking right off the bat. Jean has only been privy to two or three of her expressions, and she probably only has a handful besides those in her arsenal.

But right now, she looks like she's struggling to find the right words, the right expression. She looks around at the ground as if it will provide inspiration, and slowly clenches and unclenches one fist.

"...Thank you."

Jean raises an eyebrow. He can't remember doing anything for her recently.

"What for?"

"Armin," she says, emphatically, like she's trying to convey more meaning than she knows how to, "I-- I heard you two talk last night."

Oh for the love of... Can't he do anything in peace these days? Sure anyone who woke up before he did would have seen them sleeping next to each other, but that could just be chalked up to them trying to stay warm. He intended for what he said to Armin then to remain between them.

It's not like Mikasa would tell anybody, but still.

"Yeah, well, someone had to..."

"No, it's more important than that," she shakes her head, and bites her lip, and Jean doesn't think he's ever seen her at such a loss before, "it's... People like Eren and I, we can't... We've always been there for him, but now..."

"He's not like us. He's a kind person. His heart is good, so when things like this happen, it hurts him. I don't know what feels like. Eren doesn't either."

"So..." she hesitates a little, and then reaches forward to put a hand on his shoulder, "he needs someone like you. Someone who knows what it's like to hurt. Someone who knows how it feels to be powerless in the face of a choice."

"Yeah," Jean says a little sharper than he means to, "yeah, I know. You're not the first person to say that to me."

Mikasa looks confused, but Jean just shakes his head, and gently pushes her hand aside.

"It's okay. Don't worry about it. It's not like I'm gonna abandon him. But..."

"Don't underestimate him either. Armin isn't a person that needs anyone's protection, got it?

Jean means to be serious, intimidating, but Mikasa... smiles.

"I know."

She leaves him with a respectful nod, and Jean wonders what it was that he just saw.

When they're all up and nearly ready to begin today's mission, Armin looks good. Steady. Jean knows he has a way of shedding himself of emotion when faced with something he must do. When their eyes meet, he straightens up with a confident posture, as if to prove that he's alright. Jean claps him on the shoulder.

Hopefully before the day is out, they'll have some real answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this, please leave a comment or a kudos. I am a narcissistic, egotistical creature, stunned by the sight of myself in mirrors and hypnotized by the sound of my own voice, and I subsist entirely on the approval of strangers.
> 
> Thank you for reading.


	3. Everything Stays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  _Let's go in the garden, you'll find something waiting,_   
>  _Right there where you left it, lying upside-down,_   
>  _When you finally find it, you'll see that it's faded,_   
>  _The underside is lighter, when you turn it around,_   
>  _Everything stays, right where you left it,_   
>  _Everything stays, but it still changes,_   
>  _Ever so slightly, daily and nightly,_   
>  _In little ways, how[Everything Stays](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pozDLjFUVbM)._   
> 

When the night falls, after a day that may have been an eternity, they move their makeshift camp from the top of the wall down to a house below. Entering is both comforting and eerie. Jean can't remember the last time he stepped foot in a civilian home, and that included his own. It's soft and domestic. There are bits and pieces of the family that must have lived here still around. Lamps still full of oil, dishes on the table, flowers and herbs perfectly dried hanging above the kitchen counters. The love of those long gone still lingers, as perceptible as a scent.

There are a few rooms, and a couple of beds. Sasha is gently tucked into one of them first. The shrapnel that had lodged itself into her chest was removed as carefully as possible a couple of hours ago, when Hange was steady enough to do so. Thankfully, the huge splinter hadn't pierced her heart or lungs. But she is still the most gravely injured of them all, and her survival isn't guaranteed. She takes first priority.

Jean is surprised when he is chosen second. His arm is very badly broken, and he's in a lot of pain, but selfishly, he never assumes himself to be the weak link in the squad. He tries to deflect the offer at Hange, who refuses, and then at Mikasa, who doesn't even dignify him with a response. Connie and Levi have made themselves scarce, and Jean would rather suck on an iceburst stone than entertain the thought of rolling over for Eren.

He doesn't know where Armin is. He can't even attempt to try and look for him. His body turns to lead at the thought.

Jean gives up. He bows his head in defeat and takes the second bed. No one follows him. He closes the door carelessly, leaving it open a crack, and sits down to take off his boots and harness. It takes twice as long to do when he only has the use of one arm. But he might as well. He's not going to be able to maneuver properly for some time. He doesn't have to be ready for anything.

He lies down and stares at the ceiling. The subtle sounds of nighttime settle in the house. A chilly autumn wind rattles at the window. His eyes imagine shapes in the nothingness of pure darkness, twisting and shifting. They don't go away when he closes them.

Sleep only comes to him in snatches, and in his dreams he sees the echoes of every miserable, terrifying, unspeakable thing that has happened today. Hundreds are dead, and again, he finds himself to be the unlucky survivor. He bitterly wonders why fate has chosen him in this way, unable to die, unable to forget, and unable to give up.

The wooden floors creak, and Jean hears the rasping susurration of bare feet walking nearby. He turns on his good side and watches as someone passes by the crack of his just-open door. The shape is male, too tall to be Levi or Connie, and too short to be Eren.

A call dies on his lips, and his fingers stretch out, unknown to this shadowy figure. It's there and gone in an instant, the sound of its fading footsteps like an insistent, pleading whisper. Jean pushes himself out of bed, following the call.

The door to Sasha's room is open. Jean can see Connie sitting at her bedside, either asleep or too vigilant to notice anything around him that isn't her. In the living area, papers and pictures are scattered around the table, and Hange is sleeping on top of them, settled on her own arms. The lamp next to her has burned through its oil. Levi is in a nearby chair, foot propped up on a stool, in front of the shouldering embers of an unchecked fire.

The front door opens and closes. Someone leaves, and no-one stops them. Jean looks around at his captains and squad mates, and takes it upon himself to follow.

The white glow outside is nothing like the warm yellow-orange of fires and lamps. It really is like a different world. It throws cold, sharp shadows across the ground. Everything is devoid of color. Spots of black stain the path, either scorch marks from the Colossal Titan's explosion, or old blood seeped into the pavement. The corpses are long gone, either blown into ashes or eaten by Titans years ago, but Shiganshina has not forgotten.  
  
It makes the shadow leading him along all the more ghastly. Jean is acutely aware of the fact that he's standing on sacred ground, where the Wall's first defense was broken, where humanity woke up after a hundred-year slumber, and where they had just fought back for the smallest fragment of hope. How many souls restlessly wander these streets? Have any of them calmed now that the hole has finally been plugged, and the world's secrets have begun to reveal themselves?  
  
He nearly expects will-o-wisps to light his way as he doggedly follows the figure. It moves with singleminded determination towards a place it must know by heart. Still barefoot, it brushes past weeds that are pushing up through the cobblestones from years of neglect. Jean realizes he's barefoot too. The path is cool and smooth. Bits of rubble bite into the soles of his feet, but the pain is negligible.

They stop in front of a house, fortunately undamaged. A shaft of moonlight illuminates who he's been chasing all this time, who he knew from the beginning, but was afraid to truly see. His golden hair shines a pale yellow, and a gentle breeze ruffles his cloak. Strange, how he would remember that, but not a pair of shoes. It must not have mattered in the moment he decided to leave.

"I'm home," Armin says softly as he undoes the latch, stepping inside.

Of course. Armin lived here too, Jean belatedly realizes. They were all so focused on getting into Eren's basement, he didn't even think...

Armin leaves the door open behind him. Jean comes to the threshold, and stutters to a halt. He lingers a moment in fear and indecision, feeling as though he is standing at a crossroads before a world he's never seen. Something is going to change, and he won't be able to return to the time before that change happened, no matter how he may wish it.

He stands motionless as he inwardly struggles. Armin continues to move as though he's all alone, running his fingers over a table, a rim of a chair. The disturbed dust floats into the air in tiny motes, like little spirits that have been waiting for his return. More kicks up as he pushes the table to the side, and kneels down on the floor, feeling between the wooden panels.

One of them comes loose. He pulls it out, and then another, revealing a small niche carved into the dirt foundation. He reaches in a pulls out... a book.

With a certain reverence, Armin brushes the dust from its cover. The side that was resting against the ground has turned a different color than the side that was facing up, from years of slowly absorbing the moisture from the soil. Kneeling, Armin simply sits with the book unopened in his lap, as though hunched over in prayer.

Minutes of silence pass.

"Have I really become so beastly? That you can't even address me? Has the time we've spoken of finally come?"

Armin doesn't turn around. He knows Jean is there. He's known since he left the rest of the squad.

Jean feels a rock lodge in his throat. He can't speak.

"Bertholt was our comrade," Armin starts again, "As was Reiner. I can understand why Connie and Sasha would weep. They've protected us. We trusted them in turn."

"...Armin."

"He didn't hate us at all. He came thinking that the people that living inside the Walls were evil, but he learned that we were all just that... People. Good and bad. It broke their hearts. Each one of them. We broke them to pieces. And now he's dead."

"Armin."

He finally looks back. A single tear rolls down his face. Jean wonders who it is that's crying; Armin or Bertholt. He steps into the house, and the dust of memories swirls around him.

He shouldn't be here. He doesn't deserve to be here. He did this to him. It's all his fault.

"I should never have said those words to you," Jean chokes. His face crumples in pain, "that you were the only one that could save us. I didn't think that..."

He turns his cheek, unable to look Armin in the eye. Armin never hesitated. He would sacrifice anything, even himself. Jean should have known. Those careless words led him into his grave. He may as well have driven the stake in his heart himself.

"I even blew my second chance away," he raises a hand to his forehead, his voice rasping, "I thought that they should have revived the Commander. I didn't do anything to stop Levi. I could have, it would have been easy with Eren's help. But I didn't..."

Jean cries. He hadn't let himself, not even for a second. He couldn't bring himself to feel relief when he saw Armin's whole body re-emerge from his Titan skin. But he can't take it anymore.

"Why do I always have to do the right _fucking_ thing? Why can't I be selfish for two God-dammed seconds and make a bad decision? It would hurt so much less! Fucking hell!"

He knows he's making some kind of hideous face, sniffling like a brat running back to his mother, and his shame compounds on itself. Each word breaks into more syllables as he struggles through them, stopping to gasp or sob. He's so buried in it that he doesn't notice Armin's response to him. Everything is blurry from the tears choking him up.

"It's okay."

He feels Armin lean against him, insistently pressing into the space underneath the elbow he has crossed over his eyes. He can't stop crying-- if anything, the feeling of Armin's small, warm weight causes him to double up. Hands sneak up and under the arm he's trying to hide himself behind, and palms cup his wet face.

"It's okay, Jean."  
  
"I _killed_ you," he replies, the word coming out of him like an illness purging itself.

"I'm still here,"

"I gave you up for some stupid _cause!_ "

"We've all made our sacrifices for the sake of humanity."  
  
" _Fuck humanity!_ "

His response is petulant at its best, and he's well aware of that. But he doesn't care. He's tired of caring. He remembers the days when he never cared, and how easy they were, and he nearly pines for them. But just like the decision he made in coming into this house, there's no turning back.

Exhausted, he lets his arm fall down to his side. His face rests in Armin's hands, and tears fall in a steady stream from his closed eyes. Armin's thumbs wipe them away as they gather. He stands up on the tips of his toes to touch his forehead to Jean's, a genuine act of affection that he remembers them sharing.

"...I've heard Mikasa say before-- _the world is very cruel, but it is just as beautiful._ "

Jean slowly opens his eyes, and finds them staring straight into Armin's. He can't see the rest of his face, he can't tell if he's smiling or frowning, yet somehow, he knows exactly how he feels.

"It makes me wonder if suffering is somehow integral to our existences. That we can't appreciate good things if we haven't experienced the bad."

"...That's stupid," Jean replies groggily, and Armin's eyes light up briefly with laughter he can't give voice to. He tenderly dries Jean's face with the cuff of his sleeve. Jean swallows down the rest of them, so Armin won't have to do it again.

"It is, isn't it? Everything is stupid. It's all rubbish, senseless and pointless. But it's what we have, so we can't help but care about it."

There's a wistful quality to Armin's tone. If only logic and ethics were truly weaved into reality. But the world doesn't have a mind for such human concepts, like justice. Like mercy.

"So don't worry, Jean," Armin shakes his head, "I don't blame you. I was the one that made the decision to give myself up. I think... I may have even been happy, for a moment, to know that I had been helpful."

"And as for Erwin receiving the serum," he continues before Jean can get a word in edgewise, stepping back and turning away, "if that had come to be... it may have been a kindness, in the end."

"You can't say that. You're alive, you..."

"I always said that I was willing to become a monster if it meant that I could match up to our enemies," he continues, resting his hand on the book he had left on the table, "but I don't know if I can bear this, Jean. It's far worse than I thought it would be."

Jean opens his mouth, and then closes it, looking puzzled. It's true, Armin is a Shifter now, but he hasn't thought of the consequences of that fact. Eren takes it like it means nothing to him, as far as he can see. But Eren and Armin are two different people...

"I may not have much time left as myself."

"What do you mean?"

"You're not very close to Eren. I don't expect that you would have noticed," Armin slowly shakes his head, "but he's changed. He's forgotten things. And other memories come to him, ones that aren't his. Sometimes I wonder if he knows the difference between himself and what it was that he consumed."

He sighs mournfully. His head is bowed, his back weary.

"I've already seen... _his_ thoughts. I had a glimpse of the profound sadness that was in his heart. Somewhere inside me, his soul was weeping. He has so many regrets. Soon they will become my own."

"You can't..." Jean's brow furrows, "Armin, you're _you._ You're not just going to disappear..."

But as the words leave his mouth, he realizes how shallow they sound. They're hollow reassurances, ones that Armin certainly won't accept. He knows what's happening to him better than anyone else. He's grieving for what he is now, and what is to come. Jean feels the same kind of pain along with him.

Armin picks up his book and holds it tightly against his chest. He memorizes the texture of its cover under his fingers. He walks into his old room, Jean quietly on his heels. His old things, that he has long outgrown, are exactly as they were on that day. Small trinkets, little secrets written on bits of paper, a spare coat hanging on the wall.

There's a lamp at his bedside table. Armin opens the drawer underneath, and pulls out a box of matches. There's enough oil left in the font that the wick will still light. Jean is glad for the immediate change in atmosphere. The yellow glow makes Armin look more human, and less like an apparition.

"Did I ever tell you about this?" he says as he sits down on the bed, and more dust takes to the air. He gently brushes the book off with the back of his hand, "I loved this more than anything when I was a child."

"No," Jean shakes his head, and gingerly sits down next to him. The bed is far too small, even just for Armin, "we didn't talk a whole lot at cadets. I didn't mind you, but you were always with Eren, or Mikasa."

Which meant that being near Armin would have made him either angry or jealous. He has more control over his emotions, but back then it meant he thought of them all as a group.

"I mostly heard about you second-hand from Marco."

Armin entertains a tiny smile in remembrance. Jean doesn't have to remember. He never forgets.

"I used to share this with them all the time when we were kids," he explains, opening the book to a random page, "I'm afraid that I'm at fault for Eren's obsession with the Corps. I was the first one to show him the outside world."

Jean leans over a little so he can see the contents of the pages. There's a picture of a huge hill, so tall that the word _hill_ doesn't seem appropriate for its magnitude. Its top is capped with that looks like snow, and its peak scrapes the bottoms of passing clouds. The words on the pages are hard to make out in the dim light, but he can decipher one.

" _Mountain_ ," he repeats to Armin, and he nods.

"Yes. According to this, there are many of these outside the Walls. They're usually grouped together in long 'ranges' that can extend for miles. Their peaks are so high that it's significantly colder at their tops, hence why they're covered with snow."

"That's impossible," Jean shakes his head, "not even the Walls are that big. It's a fairy-tale book."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Armin turns the page, "but grandfather always told me that my parents left this behind for me, so I would know what they knew. What they died for."

"Died for?"

"They were 'Natural Historians.' They studied what the world is like outside these tiny Walls," he explains, "they used to go on expeditions with the Corps. One time, when I was very young, they didn't come back. I don't really remember them... But I'm sure the Crown found it all the better that they died in their meddling."

"After reading this, I could see why they made such a sacrifice,"

Jean expects Armin to be bitter. His parents left their child behind to chase a crazy dream? But Armin has a look of fondness on his face, so pure...

"Do you know why I came here, Jean? Why I'm sharing this with you?"

Armin looks up. Jean shakes his head. Armin closes his book to give him all of his attention.

"I wanted to make sure that I still knew what this was. I wanted to make sure it still brought happiness to me. I wanted to know that I could still find my way home."

Armin voice cracks. His body trembles, and his smile turns desperate as the first real flood of tears spill over his cheek in thick droplets.

"I don't know how much longer any of that will last..."

Armin hiccups, gritting his teeth against this horrible feeling. Jean takes him in against his chest, moving even his broken arm so he can tuck him in as close as possible. Armin holds Jean's shirt so tightly the fabric twists in his grasp.

"How am I going to live?" he cries, "How am I going to live if I forget? These dreams... They're all I've ever been! Since I was a child, it was all I ever wanted-- Is it all going to fade away? What am I going to be then?"

Armin rubs his wet face into Jean's shoulder.

"It's too precious. Eren, Mikasa, my family... You. I can't lose you. I just can't!"

"You're not going to lose me," Jean replies resolutely, and puts a hand in Armin's hair, scratching his scalp. Armin heaves with sobs. He can't put a stopper on it.

"How do you know that? How do you know for sure?"

"Because that's my decision, not yours. Here."

Jean reaches out, and takes the book that has fallen out of Armin's lap. He watches him, still curious even when blinded by tears.

"I'll take this-- well, I'll read it first, but I'll take it with me too," he explains as Armin sniffs, "and I'll follow you. Where ever you go, where ever you end up, I'll be there. So you'll never lose this, and you'll never lose me."

"Jean..."

"You said that going up against the Colossal Titan was your idea. But I was still the one that made you carry that burden. So I'm paying you back, one burden for another."

"Even if you forget this, or forget me... I won't. I won't forget about you."

Armin's crying grows quiet. He pauses, and shakes his head, unable to look up.

"...I can't possibly let you do that. What if the worst happens? You'll be leashed to someone who doesn't even care about you."

"Too bad," Jean gently bonks Armin's head with the book, and he blinks in confusion, "still not your decision."

"You're crazy!" he loudly protests, but Jean gives him his best boastful grin.

"Great! Then I can join the club, right?"

Armin snorts his ugliest laugh ever. Snot drips down his upper lip, and he sucks it back up. It's disgusting, and yet Jean can't think of a smile he was ever as happy to see. He'll gladly dedicate his life to this. It doesn't take much; this is all he needs.

"Come on," Jean turns him around in his lap, so they're both facing forward, and gives Armin the book, "Show me your favorite page. Then we gotta get back to the others before they think we've run off and eloped."

He hesitates only for a moment, fingers dancing over the cover, before giving in, and opening the book in such a precise way that he must have opened it in the exact same way hundreds of times before. It falls to an image of water that spreads all the way across two pages, and into a painted horizon. Jean carefully memorizes the way Armin's eyes light up, knowing that in the future, it will be his duty to incite this passion within him again.

He creates his own hope then, like a tiny prayer flickering, small, and solemn. He hopes that the day will never come to be.

"This is the 'Ocean...'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please, leave a kudos. If you've already left a kudos, please considering leaving a comment.


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